Wouldn't You Break?
by kjayla
Summary: They only saw a bossy bookworm. And she was glad of that. Because as long as that was all they saw then that meant that they didn't know. And no one could know. They could never know. So she hoped that they continued to only see the bossy bookworm. Slight changes that may grow in proportion as the story goes on. M for mentions of abuse.


**AN: This first chapter isn't happy. And there is very little emotion. And that is completely intentional.  
There have always been some things that have bothered me about Hermione and her home life. Mostly the fact that we hear nothing about it. As I was wondering my mind went in a rather depressing direction, and this is the end result. Or the beginning of the end result.**

She sat there and stared at her Hogwarts letter. She wanted it so desperately it ached. She cursed whoever had sent it to her; it was cruel sending her this letter when she knew she would never be allowed to go.

Strangely it didn't cross her mind that it was a prank or a trick, after all pranks were most often performed by friends, and she had none of those, and quite frankly she didn't know anyone with enough imagination to come up with something so entirely bizarre. No, she thought the letter was real enough, but she was also realistic enough to know her parents would never allow her to go.

Which is why her heart wept at the cruelty of the letter. She wanted this so desperately. Not because of the magic, although she agreed that was awe-inspiring. Not because she would finally have somewhere where she could belong. Because she figured that belonging was more than having something in common. But because she wanted out of this prison called home. Though to be fair she wasn't home often. She left very early every morning to go to school, she would often help the librarian put the library in order for the day, taking all of the recently returned books and returning them to their proper place. After school she would stay at the school for some extra-curricular activity, so long as they weren't sports, no, sports were too dangerous, to revealing. Instead she would stay for book clubs, math clubs, tutoring, and any excuse she could find really. She would then leave school and head to the local library. She would spend several hours there, doing her homework and reading. Oh how she loved to read. The escape it gave her whether it was learning the laws of chemistry or following a hero on it's quest, all that mattered was that it took her mind away. It was the only thing she asked for, the ability to lock her mind away in anything that wasn't her reality.

She hated reality. In reality she was an ugly, foolish, beaver-toothed bookworm who was completely incompetent and unlikely to succeed. It hadn't always been this way. It hadn't started until her second year in school. But about that time the dentistry was facing a financial crisis. Her parents were devastated, they had thrown everything into this business, and now, after all this time it was failing, they had needed something to blame it on. And more often than not blame is irrational.

Her father had blamed her. It was her fault the business was struggling; it was her fault their marriage was in disrepair, anything and everything became her fault, and even something as simple as a stubbed toe was somehow her fault.

At first her father yelled at her. "What's wrong with you? Your mother and I have given you everything. You're an ungrateful brat!" It had made little sense to the seven year old, she wasn't at all sure what she had done wrong, but nonetheless she tried to fix it, with the optimism of a seven year old who thinks that life is easily fixed. She put more effort into school, bringing home perfect records to prove that nothing was wrong with her. She made pretty cards for her parents, showing that she was grateful. But it wasn't enough the verbal tirades continued to escalate until they became physical. But even when in the depths of fury her father was an intelligent man. There were never any visible bruises. And the worst beatings would come during holidays when no one would see her.

She hadn't realized that she needed to find help, after all this was her father, he would only hurt her if she deserved it. And so she tried harder to be perfect. She threw her everything into it. But it was never enough. Perfect scores weren't enough, spelling bee champion wasn't enough. Nothing ever was.

Eventually the dentistry picked itself back up, her parents business was successful again. But her father had felt that thrill that came from control. And he had control, he told his daughter when she was allowed to eat, he told his daughter what she had to do to escape a beating. And he couldn't give up his control.

The beatings weren't quite as common; instead the verbal lashings became more common, but they were just as painful. And Hermione wanted out. She stared at the Hogwarts letter and cursed her feeble heart for even hoping. Hope was destructive, in the end all it did was let her down. And that was perhaps more destructive than her father.

Professor McGonagall reminded Hermione of the librarian at the school. A cool block of ice that ironically enough radiated warmth. Hermione found herself wanting to trust the witch. She berated herself the moment the thought crossed her mind.

"She won't be going." The answer was said in the politest of tones. Her father was the epitome of polite in public.

"I don't think we could part with our little girl." This was her mother, never personally abusive, but she seemed to get pleasure out of watching the abuse.

"I understand how difficult this is for you, and I will completely understand if you wish to keep her out of Hogwarts. But there are several things you need to be aware of. The longer she goes without proper training the more likely it is for her to become volatile, her magic wants to be used, and if not used often forces itself out."

Her father paused momentarily. "What would trigger her magical outbursts?"

"Most commonly fear or anger, it can be quite dangerous, often hurting those around her. It's the greatest dangers muggleborns who refuse to learn magic face."

Hermione wanted to smile. Her father was scared. There had been times during her beatings that objects would explode or fires would start. All completely unexplainable, but they had all been dangerous. Suddenly she felt tired. She had figured out what would happen to her. She would be sent away to Hogwarts. Father was much to scared of what she could do if she wasn't.

She was right, her mother and father agreed to send her away. Wiping their eyes of tears that Hermione was quite sure were fake. Professor McGonagall seemed to believe them though. Hermione didn't hold it against her, most people did believe her parents, after all they were rather charismatic.

Professor McGonagall took her to Diagon Alley that very weekend. Hermione couldn't help the excitement she felt. Was this what freedom felt like?

She collected her wand excitedly, vine wood and dragon heartstring. She had questioned Mr. Ollivander fervently, refusing to be put off by the strange mysticism he tried to put off. She thought it was possible he even enjoyed all of her strange questions even if he did his best to hide it. She decided that she liked the strange man. He may hide behind his mysticism but Hermione felt that he was to be trusted, and since she doubted she would see him again she allowed herself to do so.

As she left he called out one last time, "Remember Miss Granger, it is from the heart of the dragon that we make our wands, the scales may protect the dragon, but it is the heart that gives the dragon the strength that is renowned for." Hermione left wondering how much the strange man had seen in her.

She had nearly collapsed in Flourish and Blotts, she had raced around, selecting all of her assigned books with care. She had bought the cheapest robes she could find (so long as they would still pass her father's inspection, there was no need to get an unnecessary beating) in order to ensure she would have a little bit of extra money to buy a few extra books. Professor McGonagall had merely shaken her head in amusement.

She was very careful about the books she chose, hoping to hide the important books among more general books, she bought the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts as well as Hogwarts, A History. But most importantly she bought a basic book of healing. She doubted she would be capable of performing any of the spells for a while yet, but it couldn't hurt to have it on hand.

She left Diagon Alley with that dreaded feeling of hope, perhaps things were looking up after all.

She was convinced of the folly of that thought that very night. She thanked the heavens for her babysitting job, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to move thanks to the pain. Instead she wore a long sleeved shirt when she went over to the Barton's the next day, and absolutely refused to wrestle with the little Barton boy. She didn't think her body would survive.

Her parents dropped her off at Kings Cross September 1st. There were no tearful goodbyes, no promises to write. Instead her father informed her they would see her at Christmas. He had such a beautiful present already picked out for her. She ached silently. She had hoped they would decide to leave her at Hogwarts this Christmas, and every Christmas after for all Hermione cared.

But she had nearly four months until her promised beating and Hermione found that she couldn't allow herself to care. What was a few more beatings anyway?

She knew immediately that she would help the boy. He looked so scared, so timid, so completely innocent. And so she searched through the compartments asking the other students if they had seen his toad. She kept it all very professional, keeping the majority of her conversations short. Professional was best, professional was aloof and distant. She had become very skilled at being professional over the years.

Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to be normal when she found the two boys laughing and indulging in sweets. She had felt a kindred spirit in the black haired boy, while she had sensed innocence in Neville, she sensed the same wary distrust she herself had in the black haired boy. She had been only minimally surprised to discover that he was the Harry Potter that she had read about, something about his story had seemed tragic to her. She wondered if he was abused too.

And so she tried to turn off her professionalism, even if it was for just one moment, all she managed to do was sound like a bossy know-it-all, but she prided herself on even trying. She studied that train of thought for a moment. Eventually she came to the realization that she was frightened. She had been given a second chance, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. She had buried herself so deeply over the years that she wasn't even sure who she was anymore. All she knew was that she had to keep her barriers up. And if that meant being a bossy know-it-all than that was what she would be.

It didn't help the nerves that came with that sudden realization, the realization that she was once again vulnerable. And so she covered it as best she could, reciting information she had learned as it popped into her head. She was obscenely grateful to Neville, who seemed to find her information interesting. A far different reaction then the children at her old school. No, they had been cruel to her, recognizing her as an outcast. But again, what were a few cruel words? A few half-hearted pushes into the mud? No, she had learned to handle those.

But she was afraid of this new vulnerability. What was she supposed to do with her second chance?

"You're full of secrets aren't you Miss Granger?" Hermione felt a brief moment of panic. "No, no, I'm not authorized to give away any information on the students I sort. Your secrets are safe with me, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise." Hermione allowed herself to breathe again. She couldn't let them know.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me, if I could I would tell the Headmaster, you should tell the Headmaster yourself you know."

Hermione mentally shook her head at the hat. She had often thought of going for help. But there was something in her, she assumed the love she still had for her father, no matter how misplaced it might be, that stopped her from going for help. He was her father. She couldn't do it.

"I understand, I do not approve, but I understand." The hat paused "Now where to put you. You are without a doubt cunning, but I could never condone placing you in Slytherin. You are also completely and totally loyal. You would suffer through the nine levels of hell and back for someone you loved. Very admirable indeed. It takes real strength to do that. You don't lack courage. No, you face your fears daily. And I'll admit, you have a very formidable mind up here young Miss Granger." The hat paused its commentary, and Hermione said nothing. "What do you want Miss Granger?"

Hermione said nothing for a long moment. "Sorting Hat?" She paused, what was the professional way to speak to a hat?

The hat laughed softly, "Think of me as Mister Sorter, or Lance, I've always like the name Lance."

Hermione laughed mentally, "Lance, I… I just want to find myself, be myself, be happy even. I want to make the most of this chance."

"The path to self discovery is never easy, particularly when one hides themselves so deeply. No, no… Never easy. Before I sort you Miss Granger, I wish you the greatest of luck, and remember a few simple things, it's just as important to be loyal to yourself as to be loyal to others, it's alright to hold onto hope, and that nothing is impossible. Nothing." She didn't know what to think at those words. Instead she sent him the rush of gratitude she felt. She heard him shout out to the rest of the hall. "Gryffindor!"

So she plucked up the bravery Mister Lance Sorter had said she had, pulled the hat off her head and turned to her new family for the next seven years.

She would never know it, but could the sorting hat shed tears he would have shed one for her, one of pity, one of understanding, and one of happiness. Because Mister Lance Sorter knew that this one was strong enough to make it. He only wished that they all were.

The first month passed by quickly. She tried, she swear she tried. She wanted to make friends, but she couldn't bring herself to take down her barriers. Couldn't they see how desperately she wanted their friendship? Instead, she was brushed aside by her peers, ignored or taunted. Except Neville, she thought he was probably the closest friend she had ever had.

She had watched Harry, the black haired boy from the train. She could still sense wariness from him, the distinct fear of trusting others. It was perhaps, why she tried so hard to befriend the boy. Couldn't he see that she had been hurt too?

Perhaps her beatings were nothing to his. Perhaps he saw her for the weak, shameful… thing she was. The thoughts that had often invaded her mind before Hogwarts returned. Perhaps… she deserved it all. The beatings, the taunts, the isolation. And so as the second month passed she stopped fighting it. She still did her best to help Neville, she would never let him know how broken and useless she was. She was too selfish to let him know how much time he was wasting being her friend. But slowly her thoughts turned to Christmas. Maybe this time her father would finish it.

She laughed bitterly. Who knew that all it would take to break her was to give her a false sense of freedom. Only to show that she was everything her father thought she was.

Out of the mouth of three witnesses. Her father. Her former peers. Her Hogwarts peers. It was true.

"She's a nightmare, honestly! It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends."

She had heard much worse, and from people whose opinion she held in much higher regard. But it was the straw that broke the camel's back, why not a petty insult that broke her heart.

She didn't care anymore. She pushed past the boys in front of her. She thought she heard Harry mutter behind her sheepishly. She couldn't find it in her to care. So now they cared if they hurt her feelings? How absolutely idiotic. All she had ever tried to do was help. But she should have learned from her Father. Nothing was ever good enough.

She was done with it all.

She didn't go to classes that afternoon, she was far too tired to really care. Why bother really?

She didn't go down to the Halloween dinner. It was celebratory, and she had nothing to celebrate, except perhaps the sudden apathy she had found. Maybe it was better to be apathetic?

But even then her mind drifted remembering wise words. "It's the dragon's heart that gives it strength" But then, she wasn't a dragon was she. She wasn't even much of a lion when it came down to it.

She stepped out of the bathroom, she would return to her common room before the feast was over, she could be in bed before the others even finished eating.

A rancid smell filled her nostrils. She turned to find the source.

She wouldn't lie. She screamed. Once. For a moment she allowed herself to be afraid.

And then… she wasn't afraid. So? A troll was going to kill her. Well, she would let it. So she backed herself to the wall and waited. Staring at the troll with strange fascination. So this is what it was like to face death.

She was surprised when a boy was suddenly on the back of the troll. It was unexpected. And if she searched her feelings she wasn't sure if it was unwelcome or not. Was she really ready to end it all?

She stood there and watched in the same strange fascination as Harry was hoisted into the air by the troll. She really ought to do something. But the same apathy that had attached itself to her earlier remained. After all what was a useless girl like her supposed to do. It was Ron's stupidity that finally brought her out. He was standing there unsure of what to do, waving his wand and yelling gibberish at the troll. "Swish and Flick!" She yelled, she wasn't sure if he could so much as handle that spell, but she doubted he could handle any other spell either.

He did manage it, and Hermione would be the first to admit that she was surprised. It was rather astonishing, just this morning he had failed to make feathers float, and now he had managed to knock out a troll with it's own club.

She was roused by her thoughts by the arrival of several teachers. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell. Professor McGonagall seemed furious. For a moment the subservient side of her considered taking the blame.

Had she been confounded, that was an idiotic idea. It was certainly not her fault. But she certainly wasn't going to be entirely truthful either.

"I've been in the bathroom Professor, I wasn't feeling well today. It seems the boys realized I wasn't at dinner and came to find me when they discovered there was a troll in the castle," Professor McGonagall nodded tiredly.

"Thirty points to Gryffindor for the each of you two, that was very brave of you to go up against a troll, foolish perhaps, but brave, and we certainly can't fault you for trying to help a fellow student."

Hermione wasn't listening, not really. She was watching both Quirrell and Snape. They both seemed rather stunned by the unconscious troll. Snape looked up at her and she met his eyes coolly. He didn't seem as formidable after facing a troll. He kept her stare for a moment, and his eyes suddenly flashed with something akin to pity and compassion. His eyes went dark again, but there was a new understanding in them. Hermione wondered how much he knew.

She didn't know of an angry conversation between a Potions Master and a Headmaster in which she was consigned to her fate. For the Greater Good of course.

They were friends now. They felt guilty, after all, they had locked her in a room with a troll. She wondered if this was what real friendship felt like. She couldn't be sure. She pulled Neville along with her though, Neville had been her friend first, she wanted her two new friends to accept him as well.

They were both accepted. Both included. It helped that the four of them had already faced a three-headed dog earlier that year, common ground and all. But there was precious little common ground between the four of them. She had almost nothing in common with Ron, she disliked chess, quidditch, and was not obsessed with food. She enjoyed learning and academic challenges. He didn't. But he wouldn't taunt her anymore, his grades had improved noticeably once she had joined their little group.

She had little more in common with Harry. He had more interest in learning than Ron did, but he wanted so much to just glide through that he put in very little effort into it. His grades had improved as well. She figured that it was their past that they had the most in common with. But neither spoke of their pasts and she doubted he had realized what her past consisted of. His was a bit more obvious than hers with the faded, dirty, old clothes and the broken glasses. But even more so were his eyes, they were expressive. They told her things that he never would. Her eyes were shuttered, she had shuttered them a long time ago.

She was shocked to find that she had the most in common with Neville. He let others think that he wasn't intelligent, but she could tell that he was, he was merely hiding. He put much more effort into his homework than the other two did. And like her and Harry, part of Neville was broken.

She watched Harry jerk around on his broom. She could tell that SOMETHING was wrong. But she wasn't completely sure what, all she did know was that a student couldn't have this much power, she stole Hagrid's binoculars and began searching through the teacher's area. Was that Snape muttering a jinx? Hermione's heart fell, she couldn't believe it. Recently he had been almost kind to her in potions, reaffirming her idea that he had at the least a small idea what she went through. She took a few more moments to search through the rest of the teachers. And was confused to see that Quirrell was also muttering what looked like a jinx. Were they both jinxing the broom? Was one of the counter-jinxing it? She decided not to tell Ron anything and instead pulled Neville along with her as she went to stop both teachers.

Neville was understandably terrified, Hermione didn't say it, but she was terrified too. Teachers had always been her safe haven. It felt so wrong to go against them, but she certainly wasn't going to let her new friend get hurt just to appease herself. The two of them crawled along behind her two suspects. She paused there, uncertain of what course of action she should take. If she were by herself and there was only one suspect she would have set his robes on fire. But she wasn't sure that Neville had learned that spell right now, and she wanted to get rid of both her suspects at the same time. She glanced at Neville who had adopted a look of frightened determination. He mimed pushing Professor Quirrell, she gave him a small nod, simple was sometimes best. She watched as Neville got into position before she herself pulled out her wand. She really wanted to try that fire spell. As she waved her wand Neville sprung into action, knocking the defense teacher forward as Professor Snape jumped up in an attempt to put the fire on his robes out. The two students rushed away. They were below the stands when Harry ended the game by catching the snitch. Before they ran to congratulate their friend Hermione grabbed Neville. "Don't tell either of them, they'll just jump to conclusions, I want to do a little investigating first."

Neville nodded, "They'll both assume it was Snape, part of me thinks they're probably right, he can be a real git sometimes." He looked at Hermione for a moment, "But you're right, we shouldn't jump to conclusions." She sent him a grateful look and the two of them went to join the celebrations.

"See you after Christmas!" She gave the two boys a hug, both Harry and Ron were remaining at Hogwarts, Ron's parents were in Romania visiting Charlie and didn't have the money to bring the rest of the kids with them. Harry was staying because he had no desire to go home. She didn't blame him, if she had a reason to stay away from home she would take it.

The trip was all too short in Hermione's opinion. She and Neville played several games and talked together. She deflected most of the questions about her parents and he deflected most of the questions about his. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she had found mention of his parents in several books discussing Voldemort's attempt to rise to power.

Neville left to join his grandmother as Hermione left platform 9 and ¾, she wasn't exactly sure where she was supposed to meet her parents. She had gotten one letter from her parents right before Christmas Break telling her that she would be coming home for Christmas. She stood out there as it snowed for several hours. Finally she came to the conclusion that she would have to make her way home alone.

Hermione was nervous, she wasn't exactly sure how she should get herself home. She didn't have enough money for either a cab or to take the several buses it would require to make her way home. She shut her eyes for a moment thinking. With a nod to herself she grabbed her trunk and pulled it away from the station heading to a smaller ally where fewer people could see her. According to her source it wasn't exactly magic that she was about to perform, so she knew she couldn't get in trouble for it. So with one deep breath she held out her wand and waited for the Knight Bus.

He was angry, she grimaced in pain, angry was an understatement. He was furious. She wondered dazedly how much of this he had planned. She had been thrown into her old room to find that her bed was no longer there or any of her other belongings for that matter. She had stayed there for the first two days. The door remained locked and she kept herself entertained, grateful for the foresight of putting a little bit of food in her trunk.

The first two days had been wonderful. She was brought out of the room twice a day to use the bathroom, but otherwise she was left alone. But then something happened. Something to tip her father over the edge. He had stormed into her room and had begun yelling. She wasn't even sure what he was yelling about. She had stopped caring after her head hit the back wall with an astonishing amount of force. He kicked her and hit her pushing her into the wall. He got into her trunk and threw her several of her books at her, she sat there numb as he ripped several others. Obviously pleased with the destruction he had left the room, locking the door behind him.

The next two days were painful, her whole body was sore and she couldn't move without her head throbbing painfully. But she ignored it and did her best to collect her broken books and assembled them as well as she could. She would need to fix them once she got to Hogwarts.

Two days later her father entered her room again storming and cursing. But this time Hermione didn't see the look of rage so common on his face, instead was the vindictive cruel sneer that frightened her more than his anger. Angry he beat her. Vindictive he pushed her to her limits.

The whipping was painful. She tried not to cry out with each consecutive strike, but it hurt. Oh Merlin, it hurt. She was incapable of curling in on herself, instead she lay prostrate on the ground completely unguarded to the constant cracks. Thirty-nine hits. She laughed at the mockery. 40 hits was a death sentence she was ashamed to say she almost wanted that fortieth hit.

She was left alone again for two days, unable to move without a wrenching pain. The only time she even attempted it was to use the bathroom, and it was only then that her mother appeared, aiding her to the bathroom without a word. Hermione was afraid, she had been there six days and he had already brought her to the edge that he had never dared cross before she had left for Hogwarts. What more was he going to do to her.

He brought her to the bathroom. She noticed fearfully that there had been renovations done since she had visited it that morning. The window had been sealed, the heating vents covered over. It was almost a prison cell. She was left there for several hours waiting for the final shoe to drop.

It dropped the next morning. Christmas morning if she wasn't mistaken. And she wasn't.

Her father brought in a bucket, looking highly pleased with himself. He left the bucket in the room, turned and left. She was frightened. So very very frightened. It didn't take her long to figure out what was in the bucket, the fumes were her first clue. Clorox and ammonia mixed together. It was poisonous. That next hour was pure torture. The fumes made her feel dangerously faint and her eyes watered as the poison seemed to become stronger. She dry heaved attempting to expunge some non-existent food. She wondered how long this would take to kill her.

The door was opened and she glanced up from the ground to see her father standing there coolly. She didn't have the strength to respond and it was only after he left the doorway that she pulled herself out.

He left her alone for her last week of break, she could hear him downstairs whistling jauntily. Pleased that he had broken her. Probably planning her punishment come summer. She put herself to work. Bringing out the makeup that she had kept with her since she was far to young to really need makeup. Slowly with the talent of an artist the bruises seemed to disappear hidden by skillfully applied makeup. After all she had been doing this for years. She practiced walking, making sure that there were no noticeable limps are grimaces. Attuning herself to her broken body. It was a game of sorts she supposed. To see if she could fool the world, convince them that everything was alright in the world of little Miss Hermione Granger Bookworm Extraordinaire.

She was not given a ride to the train station instead she again found a back ally and called upon the Knight Bus. It was torturous as her body was thrown by the constant upheaval the bus was constantly in.

By the time Neville had found her on the train she had fixed all of her destroyed books and had managed to heal several of the bruises with the spells she had been practicing in the healers book she had bought in Diagon Alley last August. They talked cheerfully about their holidays, Hermione fabricating a wonderful story about how she had gone ice-skating several times with her family. The lie fell easily from her lips and she wondered if they sounded as fake to Neville as they did to her.

The return feast was delicious, although Hermione found she couldn't eat more than a few forkfuls. Despite the fact that she was very hungry her stomach had shrunk in the past weeks.

She was surprised when she returned to her room to find several presents on her bed, they had been her Christmas presents but had never found their way to her house. At the bottom she found a small vial, printed on the vial on small parchment were the words "For the pain" She wondered briefly who knew, or if it was even legitimate. Regardless she threw caution to the wind and chugged the potion down. The pain she had been feeling for the past weeks seemed to lessen remarkably. And the relief that followed was painful in its intensity. Someone knew. Someone cared.

The potions continued to find their way to her room until she was completely healed. She wondered briefly if they were from Professor Snape, he would certainly be capable of procuring the potions and she had sensed that he might know of her plight. She didn't think any of the other professors were aware. She had seen how Professor Snape would treat the other Gryffindors, and while he didn't treat her warmly he never treated her with the same cruelty the other Gryffindors were faced with. Instead she and Neville were given a blank slate, he would neither torment them nor favor them. And both agreed that that in itself was his small show of favoritism.

She thought briefly about what Harry had said about the Mirror of Erised. She wondered what it would have shown her. Freedom from her parents? Loving parents? A place where she would never have to be afraid? She was grateful that the mirror had been moved. She didn't think she would have the strength to stay away. Some things were too painful to know.

She continued the school year remaining the strong firm studious one. She kept her head high ignoring the silly cruel words said about her. How could the little blonde twerp hope to hurt her when she had already gone through so much worse.

The dragon filled her with strange awe. The little thing looked so delicate, but she knew that he could be extremely deadly. All the while she remember Mr. Ollivander's words. "It's the heart of the dragon". She watched Norbert be playful, she watched Norbert be protective, she watched Norbert be… Norbert. Norbert didn't have any real family with him, and perhaps it was because he had never known his family, or as a dragon didn't need his family. But she watched as Norbert took care of itself, allowing Hagrid to help him, not necessarily because Norbert needed help, but something inside her told her that Norbert realized that Hagrid needed to be able to help. It gave him a strange sense of self-worth. Hermione wondered if she could be as strong as Norbert.

The rest of the year passed, and despite what Harry seemed to think she was frightened by the idea of Voldemort rising to power again, but she had gotten so used to hiding emotions that it never made it's way past her normal busy attitude.

She was embarrassed though that she had allowed herself to lose her nerve. Seriously, how could she forget that she was a witch! She had been living in Hogwarts for the past nine months. Devil's snare wasn't even that difficult to deal with. And even if she hadn't forgotten how to deal with it Neville was sitting there yelling about fire. She was glad he was there though, it was relieving to know that if something happened to her Neville would keep the other two safe. He knew how to keep his head on his shoulders.

She would admit that the keys were rather interesting. But she couldn't help but think that it was rather juvenile. Professor Flitwick was capable of much trickier charms that would have been more difficult to counter. She found that thought rather unnerving.

She hated herself for being so dispassionate. She should be devastated that her friend was unconscious on the floor after having been hit by a life-size chess piece. Not to say that she wasn't alarmed and worried. But everything was starting to seem rather surreal to her. That almost frightened her more.

Another troll… Bigger, stinkier, possibly stupider. But she didn't concern herself with that fact. It was unconscious, and that meant she didn't have to worry about it. Neville seemed rather disgusted though. She supposed that Neville hadn't had to deal with the last troll though. It was probably worse the first time seeing one then the second.

Logic. Simple, plain logic. She could handle logic. It was all a matter of thinking and processing. And she was rather talented at doing so. It was so… dispassionate. Logic was right or it was wrong. And it required nothing of her.

The argument was distracting. Harry wanted her and Neville to go back. Personally she thought that was idiotic. Obviously whoever had knocked out the troll had already drank the potion. Which led her to believe that it was a self filling potion. But she supposed that just as she had learned to be dispassionate about anything that would require something from her, Harry had decided to be passionate about everything he could. Different coping mechanisms. But coping mechanisms none the less. Finally she convinced Neville and Harry that she would go ahead with Harry while Neville went back to Ron and got help. Neither boy was happy with the decision. She wouldn't be swayed though.

She briefly wondered why Ron and Neville hadn't wanted to try going to someone else after McGonagall ignored their warning. She understood that Harry didn't trust authority figures. And Hermione certainly struggled fully trusting authority figures.

She brushed it off as she watched Harry walk through the flames and waited patiently to see if the bottle really would refill itself. She was delighted when she was right.

Quirrell. How unexpected. Well, not completely. She had suspected that something wasn't quite right with him, and she certainly wasn't convinced that it had all been Snape. No Snape was another one that she tentatively trusted. She wondered if she should take up swearing. She certainly felt like it when she found herself bound with ropes and unable to move. It made her feel vulnerable. Well, more vulnerable, she was already dealing with a fully trained wizard who had no compunctions hurting children.

She wouldn't lie though. She felt useless when she woke up in the Hospital Wing. So it hadn't been the wisest things to jump on the Professor when he went after Harry. But her mind had gone blank, and while she had never learned to protect herself, she just couldn't watch as someone else got hurt. It had ended up with her getting flung across the room and knocked unconscious. And now she had a concussion and a headache. But at least she was conscious now. Harry was still unconscious.

She was doubly grateful when she realized that the potions she had received after Christmas had allowed her body to heal without scars. She didn't want Madame Pomfrey to know. Although, there was a look in Madame Pomfrey's eyes that spoke of painful knowledge. But nothing was said, so Hermione couldn't be certain if she imagined it or not.

She was unaware of yet another conversation with the headmaster the ended up with a confounded healer with the decision that she would continue suffering… for the greater good of course. It would have broken her heart had she known.

She was glad to hear that Quirrell hadn't gotten the stone. It filled her with a strange proud feeling, that she had made a difference that she had helped _protect_ something. It was rather delightful.

She didn't promise to write. She did say she would try. But she would likely be on vacation, and she simply couldn't promise anything. Plus she had no owl. Although she was completely aware of the normal way to write letters. She just doubter her father would let her. And she hated breaking promises. So she didn't promise.

She didn't even look for her parents when she got off at Kings Cross. There was no point and she knew it. So she headed off. Telling herself that she was a Gryffindor with a dragon's heart. Hoping that if she said it enough she would start believing it.

**AN: This wasn't easy to write. And I'm not sure I got everything through that I wanted to get through. Although I certainly tried. I hope no one was disappointed by my efforts. Although I would appreciate any feedback.**


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